


a throne in heaven

by ohmyloki



Series: random acts of impropriety [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing Clothes, Smut, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3449609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyloki/pseuds/ohmyloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard is left alone in Thranduil's chambers and, with nothing better to do, gets a little nosy. Thranduil is sufficiently surprised at what he finds waiting for him on his throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a throne in heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpanglesandSass (Fidella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidella/gifts).



> I owe so much to [spanglesandsass](http://spanglesandsass.tumblr.com), I only hope this helps me even things out.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

It was early, that much Bard could tell as awareness seeped back into his body. It was early enough that for a brief moment, he considered trying to slip back into the welcoming arms of sleep. Before the thought had even cleared his mind, however, he knew it would prove a fruitless effort. He’d never been very good at remaining idle while there were things to be taken care of.

He stretched an arm out behind him, his fingers seeking the familiar warm and supple flesh of his companion. His hand was instead met with cool empty sheets that, while luxurious and worth more than he would rather think about, were distinctly unpleasant for their lack of occupant.

He turned his head on the soft pillow and blearily blinked one eye open. The room was still dim, a lit candle in the corner and the hazy light of dawn about to break providing scant illumination to the expansive space. It was enough, at least, to bring the piece of parchment lying on the empty pillow into stark relief. A smile graced Bard’s lips as he took the paper in hand and leisurely sat up to read Thranduil’s message.

Rolling his eyes, he let it flutter back down to the sheets before he slid gracefully out of bed; naked as the day he was born. He stretched slowly, humming at the way the muscles in his shoulders pulled taught, sore from a rather impressive night of activity. It was as he stood taking stock of the rest of his aches and pains that it dawned on him belatedly that he had nothing to do. There were no pressing matters for him to attend to, no real purpose behind his presence. For, while he had oft visited the Woodland Realm on matters of business and trade, this trip had been decidedly done for reasons of pure pleasure.

(Not that he had gone easily. Sigrid had been at him for weeks to take a break, to get some real rest. She went so far as to tell him it would do him some good to get away from Dale entirely, at least for a few days. When he had asked her where he could possibly go, she had given him a look that clearly said she was no fool.)

He stood there now, in the middle of Thranduil’s chambers, acutely aware of the fact that there were no impending meetings, there were no agreements to be reached, there was no business to be conducted. He felt… lost. Had he ever had such a long stretch of time in front of him where there was quite literally nothing that he had to attend to? If there had, he was quite sure he couldn’t remember it.

Hands on hips, he looked around the room with interest. He had never been left alone in the King’s chambers for so long before. Not that he didn’t have Thranduil’s trust, but whilst Bard was in his bedroom, Thranduil usually had a vested interest in being there as well. Bard smiled to himself, reminiscing on the night before, when his eyes caught on the ornate box sitting atop a desk across the room.

It wouldn’t be right of him to abuse the privilege bestowed upon him, he thought. It would not be right at all to take the King’s trust for granted, he told himself even as his feet carried him towards the beautifully carved container. He ran his finger along the edges, marveling at the smooth texture.

They had few secrets between them, Bard considered. Much to his surprise, Thranduil had been an open book to him after they had made their declarations. What secrets remained were mostly those relating to Elven culture or his rule over Mirkwood and surely nothing of import would be lying out in the open such as this. Bard glanced over his shoulder before returning his attention to the item before him and slowly lifting the lid.

His heart warmed when he saw what was inside. He had wondered once or twice where the necklace of Girion had gotten to, assuming the King had stowed it away with his vast horde of treasure elsewhere in the kingdom. To find the green gems in his private residence was both surprising and touching in a way Bard did not expect. He smiled as he closed the box once again, making a note to ask Thranduil if he had yet worn it, for Bard suspected it would look lovely against the pale skin of his neck. A sight that Bard would truly love to see.

Curious as to what other surprises he might find, Bard found himself drawn to other aspects of the room, unable to help himself. He peered at the items collected on Thranduil’s desk, he snuck peeks into drawers, and he even flipped through the books that lined the shelves adorning the room.

Bard thirsted for information, lost as he was in the haze of his feelings for King Thranduil. He felt a boy again, the way he desired to know every facet and detail about the object of his affection. While Thranduil had never avoided Bard’s pursuit of knowledge in the form of conversations and questions, there was something to be said about discovering things in a more organic fashion. The items that he chose to keep in his most personal space would speak volumes about him and Bard drank in the knowledge greedily.

He closed the book he held in his hands carefully. Its age evident in its fragility. The contents had been incomprehensible to him, with his limited knowledge of elven scripts, but his curiosity had gotten to him all the same. He would simply have to remember to ask Thranduil what it contained. As he pushed the book back into place on the shelf, his eyes caught on the second door in the room. Often, as Thranduil would come through that doorway, he would stop and let Bard’s gaze sweep over him, as if waiting for a compliment. Which Bard did, each and every time.

Of course, Bard would then typically follow the compliment by telling Thranduil that his previous outfit had been the much more flattering. Thranduil would suitably roll his eyes, reminding Bard that he had in fact been undressed previously, at which point Bard would simply smile and wiggle his eyebrows. He knew full well that, despite the unimpressed facade, Thranduil enjoyed the praise all the same.

Bard walked smoothly across the room and opened the door, ducking in and looking around in awe. The collection of clothing inside was breathtaking. It was entirely possible that one item alone was worth considerably more than the entirety of his the wages he had earned as a bargeman. Bard ran his fingers along the supple, soft fabrics, amazed. Of course, this had not all been acquired overnight, he reminded himself. Thranduil had no doubt collected these items over his rather lengthy lifetime.

A familiar looking fabric caught Bard’s eye and without thought he found himself moving to stand before it. He pondered the outfit thoughtfully, taking the time to observe the incredible detail sewn into the fabrics. The original casual pursuit of information all but forgotten, Bard carefully took down the items before walking back out the door and laying them gently on the bed. He looked down at the clothing, remembering quite clearly how lovely Thranduil looked in the dark fabrics; the way they contrasted so delightfully against his pale white skin and hair, the way it brought out the lightness of his eyes...

He smiled to himself as he came to his decision.

* * *

 

It was too big for him, that much was certain, he thought as he smoothed down the front of the of the overcoat. He filled out the shoulders and chest well enough, but the sleeves were far too long for him and the bottom hem that normally reached a few inches below Thranduil’s knees, was at Bard’s ankles. He ducked back into the closet, coming out with the matching boots he had seen Thranduil wearing before. He had to roll up the bottom of the thin leggings he wore but the boots fit him just fine. Once he was entirely put together, he stood in front of the tall mirror in the corner of the room.

Bard nearly laughed at how ridiculous he looked in Thranduil’s regal clothing; he barely felt comfortable in the marginally nicer materials that had been thrust upon him now that he was King of Dale. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head up, chin jutting forward in imitation of the Elvenking’s default pose. He glanced back at the door before he turned around and looked at himself in the reflection over his shoulder.

He turned back around and, just as he was about to give himself a final once-over and undress before Thranduil returned, the sun shifted and a glint of metal drew his attention.

He had a sudden, mad idea. He’d just have to remember to pocket the vial from the bedside table before he left the room.

* * *

 

The cavernous throne room, normally a quiet place even with the presence of the King, was silent as the grave in the early hour of the day without him. Bard hesitated at the foot of the stairs leading up to the massive throne, adjusting the crown on his head. It didn’t sit on him quite right, but there was something to be said about his level of commitment.

Bard looked around the room and, not spotting any guards in the vicinity, carefully made his way up the stairs. He looked at the wide expanse of antlers on either side of the throne, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Thranduil’s intimidation tactics, before he turned around and sat carefully on the edge of Thranduil’s throne.

Hands on knees, back straight, Bard looked down his nose at all that lay beneath him and came upon a sudden and deep understanding of certain aspects of Thranduil’s personality. The room was empty and silent and yet Bard still felt the weight of thousands of years of rule settle on his shoulders. He allowed himself to sink back further into the seat under the pressure.

He slouched and splayed his legs out for a moment before reconsidering and sitting back up. He shifted around in the seat like an inattentive child, trying to find a suitable position to wait in. After a few different attempts, he settled for crossing one leg over the other in an affectation of a pose he’d seen Thranduil in frequently. He put his hands on the arms of the throne and let his head rest against the back of the seat. To an outsider he would look unimpressed and utterly confident in his position. They’d never be able to tell that his heart hammered solidly against his chest as he wait for the King to appear.

Thankfully, it was not long after when he spotted Thranduil walking down the long and winding path alone, attention focused on a parchment he carried in his hands. Bard was silent and made no move, forcing himself to barely even breathe in order to avoid drawing attention until he was ready. He sat and watched as Thranduil made his way slowly to the platform in front of the throne.

Just as Thranduil was about to turn off the platform, down the set of stairs that would take him back to his chambers without noticing him, Bard cleared his throat. Thranduil glanced up at the throne for only a moment, a quick flicker of eyes out of habit, before he returned his attention to the document in his hands, taking a few more steps, and freezing in place.

Bard smirked as he watched Thranduil’s head swivel back in his direction. Thranduil tilted his head slightly and Bard held his gaze, lifting a brow. They stared at each other for a long while, the surprise having wiped away the mask of disinterest that Thranduil normally wore. As it stood, Bard could almost see the thoughts and ideas as they flickered across the Elvenking’s face.

After a moment, his lips twitched and he turned to face Bard more fully, carefully folding the parchment and sliding it into the pocket of his outer robe. He walked to the bottom of the stairs slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, never taking his eyes off Bard.

There was a tense silence when Thranduil came to a stop, and Bard debated for a moment if he had gone too far. Much to Bard’s relief, however, Thranduil shifted his feet together and inclined his head.

“My king,” Thranduil said.

A thrill ran through Bard’s body as Thranduil peered back up at him from under his eyelashes, head still bowed. A flicker of amusement passed across his face and Bard swallowed before steeling himself.

“Thranduil,” Bard said, putting all of the authority he could muster into his tone. If Thranduil’s darkened gaze was any indication, it seemed to have worked.

“How may I serve you, my lord?” Thranduil asked.

The ensuing silence roared in his ears as Bard’s stomach twisted with desire. Blood rushed south at Thranduil’s unfamiliar display of subservience. He debated his next move carefully, rather enjoying the way the King looked standing beneath him. But, while it was a very good look indeed, Bard needed him much closer.

“I would have you before me,” Bard stated.

“I am before you, my king,” Thranduil said with a hint of amusement.

Cheeky elf, Bard thought. He lifted a brow at the smirk that crossed Thranduil’s lips and tilted his head.

“You would test your king’s patience?” He asked.

Thranduil lifted his chin and stared at Bard in a way that made him shiver.

“Never,” Thranduil said.

Bard watched, trying to pretend he wasn’t as affected as he was, as Thranduil ascended the stairs, taking his time. He struggled to remain in his relaxed position, feeling as if he had been set aflame with the heat of Thranduil’s gaze. Bard wasn’t sure what to expect when Thranduil reached the top, but seeing the elf sink smoothly to his knees before him had surely not been it. His breath caught in his throat as Thranduil bowed his head but looked up at Bard. Bard uncrossed his legs and sat up straight, revelling in the way the Elvenking looked between his knees. He would think of this moment for many long, cold nights to come.

Bard reached forward and lifted Thranduil’s chin with his forefinger, leaning in until their breath mingled. Thranduil’s light eyes were dark with want, and Bard was sure his own desire was written plain across his face. But, for all his ostensible docility, Bard saw the challenge in Thranduil’s stare. A question that asked whether or not Bard would take advantage of the opportunity presented to him.

Bard met that challenge with fierce intensity. With one last, long look into Thranduil’s eyes, he closed the gap between them and took Thranduil’s lips in a bruising kiss. He threaded his fingers into the long silvery hair at the back of Thranduil’s crown-less head before tightening his grip, fisting it and giving a harsh tug.

Thranduil returned the kiss with passion, but remained as he was, on his knees with his arms at his sides. When Bard realized the elf had yet to move, he pulled back but kept Thranduil’s hair tangled in his hand.

“I had not expected you to wait for permission for something you’ve taken so frequently,” Bard said with a hoarse voice.

“I am here to serve you, my lord,” Thranduil said innocently.

“And that you will, but I would not have you quiet and still like a _thing_ to be used for my pleasure,” he insisted.

Bard caught only a small glimpse of Thranduil’s smile before he found himself pushed back into the throne, Thranduil’s mouth greedily devouring his own. His grip on Bard’s arms was bruising, but it lasted only a moment before Thranduil’s hands were roving over the rest of his body. Thranduil’s fingers deftly opened the overcoat Bard wore, running his hands over the bare skin of Bard’s chest. Bard shivered.

Thranduil nipped and sucked at Bard’s lips until they were both breathing heavily, clothing askew. Bard’s cock strained against the fabric of his pants and with every inadvertent brush of Thranduil’s body against his, he felt it harden further. The speed with which Thranduil could work him into a frenzied state of lust and desire was frightening.

Setting his shame aside, Bard could wait no longer. He pushed against Thranduil’s chest firmly, and Thranduil moved back immediately, looking at Bard with concern.

“On your feet, Elf,” Bard demanded.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but followed the order. Bard let his eyes trail over Thranduil’s long, lean body before he followed suit. With not much room to move around, Bard stood pressed against Thranduil, tilting his head to look up at him as his hands made quick work of opening Thranduil’s overcoat and unlacing his britches.

Bard wasted no time at all as he dipped his hand inside and stroked Thranduil’s , freeing it from the fabric. He was warm and heavy in Bard’s hand, already leaking, and Thranduil gasped and lurched forward minutely. His hands flew up to grip tightly at Bard’s shoulders.

Bard stroked him until he felt Thranduil’s hips start to shift,  trying to press further into the tight grip of Bard’s hand. Bard released him and before Thranduil could say anything, gave another order.

“Sit,” he said.

Thranduil raised both eyebrows, only the flush on his cheeks contradicting his calm demeanor, so long as Bard didn’t look below his waist. Bard stared back, as if daring Thranduil to question his command.

Once seated, of course, that’s exactly what Thranduil did.

"A king that would so easily abdicate his throne?" Thranduil asked as he relaxed back into the seat.

"A king that has found a better throne to sit himself upon," Bard clarified as he moved to straddle Thranduil’s lap.

This was better, Bard thought. Thranduil fit the throne like it was an extension of his own personality, and Bard much preferred the feeling of Thranduil beneath him over the hard wooden surface.

“I can appreciate your opinion on this matter,” Thranduil said.

“Let us see what else you can appreciate,” Bard said before bending down to capture Thranduil’s lips yet again.

It didn’t take long before they started to rut against each other, both having been worked up since the moment Thranduil saw him upon the throne. Their kiss quickly turned into a clash of lips and teeth with no finesse. Bard moaned when Thranduil’s lips left his to attend to his neck instead.

His cock so hard it nearly pained him, Bard found he wanted to wait no longer. He searched blindly for the vial he had stowed in his pocket and once found, grabbed Thranduil’s hand and placed it in his palm. Thranduil stilled immediately and pulled back, looking at Bard like a revelation.

The silence was deafening as Bard made quick work of the boots and britches, casting them aside before resuming his position on Thranduil’s lap. Thranduil had spent the short time apart well, his fingers already slick and ready.

He wasted no time in working Bard open with a gentle patience that Bard does not share in the slightest. Thranduil’s fingers teased him first, slipping and tracing gently around his hole before pressing one in ever so carefully. Bard bit back the throaty groan that wanted to break free when Thranduil’s first finger breached him, but when Thranduil manages to work in a second finger, he doesn’t bother holding back. It was not long before he was riding Thranduil’s hand as Bard sat in his lap, utterly shameless.

He worked his own hand between them, wrapping a hand tightly around Thranduil’s cock and finds himself rewarded with a breathy groan against his neck that was nearly his undoing.

“Enough. Enough, now.” Bard said as he straightened up.

Thranduil removed his fingers, leaving him feeling strangely bereft. He did not let it concern him, however. After all there was a much larger prize he sought. Bard moved forward and reached behind him, steadying Thranduil’s cock in his hand as he let himself slowly sink down around it.

He held his breath as he worked his way down, only releasing it once he was fully seated. Thranduil’s hands flew up, holding Bard’s hips firmly. The expression on his face when they were joined was something that never ceased to make Bard’s stomach flip. It was an intense focus, as if Bard was the only thing in Thranduil’s world, the source of all his pleasure.

Moving experimentally, Bard rocked his hips, enjoying the hiss of air that left Thranduil’s mouth as he did. He lifted himself smoothly and sank down slowly, so slowly it was almost self-torture. He could only imagine what Thranduil thought of it. Though the way Thranduil’s fingers dug into his hips spoke quite plainly of Thranduil’s thoughts.

He kept up the excruciatingly slow pace, working against his own interests just to tease Thranduil a bit longer, but it all went awry the moment Thranduil wrapped his hand around Bard and stroked firmly. Bard bowed forward from the pleasure of it, his breath hitching in his throat, but finding himself unable to make noise. He was a fool to think he could hold back any longer.

Their coupling turned quick and graceless. What a sight they must have made, Bard thought; half-dressed and half-mad with lust, hair falling wildly across his face with every movement. He could feel the crown atop his head was no longer center but now sat wildly askew. Had Bard the presence of mind, he would worry that it would fall off; but as Bard had no such thing, he instead lost himself in the haze of pleasure that Thranduil bestowed upon him.

The moment Bard’s thighs started to ache and burn with the effort, Thranduil let go of Bard’s cock and moved his hands to Bard’s rear, as if having read his mind. He helped Bard lift his hips before he brought him down firmly, over and over as Bard moaned with every thrust. Bard felt the loss of Thranduil’s hand and shoved his own between them, resuming what Thranduil had started by gripping his own cock and jerking himself in time with their movements.

Bard was subsequently reduced to nothing more than a raw, open nerve. Every part of his body was alight with pleasure as he leaned forward and wrapped his free arm around Thranduil’s neck and pulled him into another kiss.

The kiss soon turned to nothing more than two sets of lips pressed motionless against one another as Bard felt his release creeping up on him. He teetered at the edge of it, trying to ride it as long as possible, wanting to wring out every ounce of pleasure he could, but Thranduil was far too skilled for his own good.  Before long, Bard was groaning into Thranduil’s mouth, striping Thranduil’s chest with his seed.

Thranduil greedily swallowed the sound Bard made as he lifted Bard faster, chasing after his own release. It took only but a moment longer before he bit into Bard’s lip, coming with a soft moan barely more than an exhale.

Thranduil pressed a gentle kiss to Bard’s lips before placing another on his jaw. He moved down to Bard’s shoulder, littering it with the gentle caress of his mouth. Bard sighed gently, running his fingers through Thranduil’s soft hair. Exhaustion hitting him in a wave, he slumped and let his head rest on Thranduil’s shoulder.

Surprised laughter bubbled up into his chest and Bard couldn’t be bothered with stifling it. He straightened up and was met by the self-satisfied smirk of a very pleased elf.

“We should not linger here,” Bard said.

Thranduil hummed. “No, I should think not. Though my guards will have made sure that we are not to be disturbed so long as we are… indisposed.”

“Your guards--” Bard cut himself off, knowing it would be better if he didn’t think about it. Thranduil simply smiled at him.

Bard winced as he removed himself from Thranduil’s lap and immediately began searching for the clothing he had cast aside in his earlier haste. Thranduil made quick work of his own, only needing to lace up his britches and close his overcoat before he was back looking like the ever-regal King of the Elves he was.

“It seems I may have misplaced a boot,” Bard said, holding the remaining one in his hand. He peered over the edge of the stairs with a bad feeling about where it may have ended up.

“It matters not,” Thranduil said. “It will be retrieved later.”

Yet another thing Bard would rather not think about at the moment. All he wanted to think about then was a warm bath after which he felt he could be talked into a short nap. He stated as much to Thranduil.

“I would not expect a King such as you to be so easily exhausted. Or perhaps you were merely outmatched?” Thranduil asked.

Bard rolled his eyes and turned before Thranduil could see his smile. He made his way down the stairs, knowing Thranduil was right behind him.

When they were side by side again they made their way to Thranduil’s chambers. Bard glanced over his shoulder to the throne and then looked at Thranduil.

“You know the most impressive thing in this room is not your throne,” he said.

Thranduil looked at him, interest piqued.

“It is your ego,” Bard said flatly.

Thranduil smirked. “Surely that is not all,” he said.

“Trust me, I would know,” Bard said as they turned the corner towards the King’s private chambers.

Thranduil hummed. “I feel that I would find myself insulted if only I did not live up to my words.”

Bard had no reply, unwilling to argue with what he knew to be the truth. They lapsed into amiable silence as they walked down the corridor. Thranduil was the one to break it when they reached his room.

“I find that I quite like how you look in my clothing,” he mused.

Bard smirked. “Good. Because I quite like you out of them.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes but Bard saw the flicker of a smile all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. so... what did thranduil's note say? it wasn't important to the "plot" but i imagine it was either
> 
>   1. a. something ridiculously romantic (cheesy) that he'd never actually say out loud or 
>   2. b. something along the lines of 'i'll be back soon, pls behave yourself while i'm gone.'
> 

> 
> 2\. the guards were totally there the whole time but thranduil has given explicit instructions that bard's basically allowed to do whatever he wants. but they're definitely there going 'ummmm wtf' as bard walks up to the throne. (and they politely step out once they realize what's about to happen. bow chicka wow wow.)
> 
> 3\. i noticed my tenses slipping towards the end, i tried to clear that all up but please feel free to point anything out!


End file.
